


Soft White and Black Light

by comets_nix



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: ((newer)), Alcoholism, Dark, Depression, Hallucinations, M/M, PTSD, Sad, Social Isolation, alcoholic, maybe? ;), telling self lies, unable to accept death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9898439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comets_nix/pseuds/comets_nix
Summary: A small fic based on where Warren survived the crash, but seems to be shattered both on the inside, and outside- never leaving his room so that only the trash, alcohol, darkness, Kurt, and his black light keep him company.Or maybe, it is the teleporter who is shattered upstairs, and is quite too far gone to be able to see what is there, and what is not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Cover for a better look: http://68.media.tumblr.com/89bff657a2ec1019f196141656850e6e/tumblr_inline_oliw8s3Cl71sctnpb_1280.jpg

Warren had plenty to hurt over.  
His mother’s death, his terrible father, the streets he owned that stabbed him in the back, the cage that ruined every last bit of him, the idiot god that stole his wings and made him something he wasn’t- it all piled up in a stupid, heavy weight that tore at his brain and ate at his skin.  
His head had gone through a blender; his nerves and emotions a now wrecked and puddled mess between his ears that every now and then leaked out from under his eyes and through his nose. Warren’s face was a twisted, marked mess that resembled a living nightmare. He didn’t think his hair would ever grow back in- at least it hasn’t yet. His wings were thin and shaggy and just simply sad to look at, if you knew what they once were.  
They had pulled him from the crash- those ‘X-Men.’ And Kurt had been one of them.  
Kurt- the fantastic ‘Nightcrawler’ he so terribly fought and _lost_ to. _Twice._ The cause to all of his current problems. The reason Warren now found himself high and drunk broken in their shared bed in a weak mess- sprawled out naked and clutching a long-since died cigarette.  
He kept the lights off and the dark curtains drawn constantly so that the room was drenched in a black, stuffy, reeking mess that stunk of smoke and vomit and sweat. The bed was never made; as Warren never left it. His wings laid a limp pile at his sides- the feathers untouched and ungroomed for much too long, now grown soft and weak only half full with the lack of the wind they dreamed of and desired.  
Countless beer, whiskey, and vodka bottles lined the room both on the cluttered dresser and messy floors- each one carefully emptied by the broken angel they watched all day.  
The ceiling was nearly stained with how many cigarettes Warren burned inside against the locked windows, but you would never tell, with how dark it constantly was.  
Warren didn’t sleep, however- no matter how much lack of light and movement he was surrounded by and filled with.  
He simply laid in the bed- on his back, on his stomach, on his side- and stared into the thick shadows as he drowned in alcohol and drank his smoke. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been dressed or clothed- but he couldn’t care less about that now.  
Warren was only worried about two things in life- the battery running out of his black light that hung above the bed, and forgetting what the sky looked like.  
The clouds and wind haunted his dreams- pulling at his feathers when he managed to slip into slumber, and rising his wings against his will as he dreamed of flying once again. It wasn’t nightmares that woke him; it was gorgeous dreams that many would love to have.  
_A royally violet sunset. A soft pink sunrise. White cotton clouds that kissed his cheeks and lifted him above the earth until the ground was gone._  
But no- to Warren, they were _agony._ Teasing and torturing him with what he couldn’t have.  
No matter how much Kurt reminded him that he still could have that- that the sky was waiting just outside for his feathers to grow and take him home- Warren spat curses and blocked it off.  
His wings weren’t his anymore. Something wasn’t right about them now.  
And Warren didn’t think he would ever want anything to do with them ever again.

The black light that hung nailed to the wall was the only source of illumination available in their room. Warren couldn’t remember how he got it or where it even came from, but he doesn’t ask.  
There are days when it’s never off- the angel drunk in a smokey haze as the blues and purples bounce around and seem to make his body jello and take his mind somewhere else. The wrinkled posters lining and coating the walls around him glowed in some spots a bright green, pink, purple, or blue under the light, but the room remained too dark still to ever properly see them. The once-white bed now was a bright, yet dirty blue beneath the angel as the covers sat twisted and filthy; the sheets hanging off the bed to meet the trash on the floor.  
And there are days when it’s never on- Warren’s mind racked with too many thoughts and dreams for him to handle or get rid of. He instead hides under the dirty covers in total darkness; trying to find peace in himself once again.  
His eyes used to hurt and ache from the constant dark, neon glow that exposed the layers of neglect over both himself and their room, but the angel hardly feels anything at this point- either constantly too drunk to notice, or simply worn out of everything.

Kurt comes home to him each night.  
Warren doesn’t know where he goes all day- something he said about _classes_ and _friends_ \- whatever. Warren doesn’t care about those now foreign words to him. All he cares is that the door opens each night- Warren squinting at the outside light- and Kurt walks in to come to bed.  
_Kurt did this to him. He deserves to pay for it. He deserves to give Warren whatever he wants now. ___  
The blue boys friends are furious with the situation- that room is in _no_ condition for their favorite blueberry to be living in. Trash, beer bottles, and abandoned clothes that all littered the floor were potential booby traps for their friend.  
They hated that Kurt’s nose had grown immune to the stench of the room, and that the poor kid showed up to class reeking of cigarette smoke with out even realizing; no matter how clean he was.  
_And no light whatsoever!?_ What kind of acceptable behavior was that!? Poor Kurt would get terrible headaches or loose track of time or get sick or blah blah _blah,_ fucking _whatever._  
They cared only about Kurt’s health and safety- never once asking _why_ exactly Warren kept their room a literal black-lit dump. Never stopping to think or wonder why the angel hadn’t left the room in _months._  
They asked Xavier to move Kurt somewhere else- to let the boy _live_ properly for gods sake- but Kurt had furiously refused, and Charles couldn’t force anything.  
The teleporter said he needed to take care of his angel- he would _never_ abandon Warren like that ever again, what were they thinking, being so worried?! He was _fine!_ His angel _needed_ him! And he could take care of _himself,_ he knew what he was doing!  
His friends hated it, but they eventually fell silent and ignored the situation as Kurt had wished.  
So the teleporter came home each night after doing homework in the library, dropped his book-bag down in the shadows at the bottom of the desk, and showered in the bathroom with the door open for the black light to let him see- after Warren had ripped the actual light bulb out from the mirror in a fit of rage and shattered it _somewhere_ over in the corner.  
He hummed a simple tune as he cleaned himself in the foggy blue air, and stepped out to dry and dress in the only pajamas he could find and left folded on the messy bathroom counter, next to the untouched bag of prescribed medication.  
He followed the familiar path over the known bottles and clothes across the room to Warren on the bed; the black light and his naturally keen eyes easily helping him find his way.  
And he then laid in bed with Warren, and wrapped his arms around the angels wide torso, gently twining their legs together.  
_“Are you okay?”_ He always asked, light and smiled as he peered up at Warren’s hazy eyes and pecked his lips. _“You’re eyes are bloodshot again,”_ he said worriedly and frowned slightly, cupping Warren’s face carefully with a hand as he gazed at the angels eyes- glowing a soft blue to match their irises in the neon light, but clearly irritated.  
This was the only time Warren really showed any signs of emotion- when he took in a small breath and kissed Kurt back to change the subject; his arms tightening around the other and his sad, drunk wings managing to fold over them.  
_“I don’t know…”_ It’s a deep, hazy, familiar mumble from the angel as he moved his lips slowly over Kurt’s cheek to bury his face in the shadows of his neck. Kurt’s hand came up to gently hold the back of Warren’s head as he let his nose and forehead rest against Kurt’s soft skin, and trailed the tips of his fingers over the angels hairline. His thumb idly rubbed over the tattoos marking the winged mutants skin, and he looked above Warrens ducked head up at the dark wall in thought.  
_“I’m glad you’re here.”_ Warren moaned almost too quiet to hear then, muffled against Kurt and low with exhaustion. The teleporter didn’t respond, however, only smiling a bit more and moving his other hand to run down Warren’s warm, bare body, and rest it over his butt like he knew Warren silently liked.  
_“I love you,”_ he finally whispered to the angel then, and pressed a gentle kiss into his curls.  
Warren sucked in a breath and exhaled again as he suddenly pulled away and leaned up on one elbow to loom over Kurt, just inches above him.  
“Why do you have these on?” He asked quietly in a desperate attempt to talk about something else, and frowned slightly, taking the bottom of Kurt’s shirt between his fingers as he slowly tugged it up a bit.  
“You want them off?” Kurt smiled up at him as he asked nicely, but his smile was not one of arousal or teasing, no. It was soft and gentle as his glowing teeth were just barely visible when he spoke; his voice light, caring, and full of understanding of Warren’s frustration.  
_“Yeah…”_ The angel said with a short frown, and helped Kurt pull the shirt over his head when the teleporter sat up next to him.  
The blue boys body seemed to radiate a deep, navy color under the black light, but when he turned a certain way, or moved a bit, the light caught on the small, raised ares of scars, and the tips of his fur to bounce off in a glowing, ocean blue that made him look entirely mystical. His damp, wavy hair fell over his eyes and cast a dark shadow against the purples and blues of his skin, but his eyes shone a bright orange and yellow glow as they peered happily over at Warren.  
The angel let his expression soften a bit as he moved slowly to help Kurt pull his pants and underwear off, and toss the clothes to the floor to let them gather with the countless others.  
“I need to clean tomorrow,” Kurt said softly then, moving to scoot closer to Warren and pull him gently back down to lay next to him. The angels eyes fell hooded as he returned his head back tucked safely under Kurt’s chin and neck, and flopped his thin wing over them once more. He scooted to lay against Kurt’s warm, naked body, and held him close in the semi-darkness.  
_“Where?”_ He asked lowly then; not looking forward to having to get up and either leave the room, or sit somewhere with the lights on and the windows open while Kurt picked up his monthly mess.  
“Just the bed, bathroom, and floor a little…” Kurt whispered; his voice weak and soft enough to express that it might not even happen. He knew how much Warren hated when Kurt took a day to finally filter the air and get rid of any health-hazards too bad to live with, and sometimes just worked in the darkness while Warren stayed in bed finally asleep.  
The angel hummed in response as Kurt’s hand returned to the back of his head, and repeated it’s motions tracing and rubbing over his skin and hair.

___The broken, neon-glowing feathers rose softly with each breath Warren took, and Kurt found himself staring at them while the angel slowly drifted off into sleep against him._  
He remembered what they looked like before- wide and glorious and _breathtaking_ as they carried him across the cage and fought with ferocity…  
His blue lips finally turned down just a bit at seeing them now over top of him- thin, and shaggy. Broken and frail. The feathers never fully forming, and only coming in half way, just to break and split at some point later on. They weren’t grown to their full wing span- only reach a few feet on either side as they stayed folded and purposely neglected.  
Kurt missed Warren true wings _terribly._ But he would never tell Warren that.  
Not anymore, at least.  
All Kurt could do now for the angel, was hold him here in bed in their ruined, cave of a room, and run his hands over him in calm, reassuring motions. He whispered soft German and sweet words to Warren as the winged mutant fell asleep against him; hoping that at least some of them broke through his clogged brain and let him know that _Someone_ still cared.  
_Someone_ was there with him.  
Whether Warren heard him or not each night when Kurt whispered how much he still loved him; how much he wanted Warren to get better and fly again to the sky, Kurt still stayed with him.  
He knew Warren needed help- vigorous rehabilitation that would take years to fully heal him- but all he did right now, was let the winged mutant stay in his bed in their darkened, gross room; where he felt safe. He let him hide, and sleep, and skip four showers, and eat only when he wanted to; and drink and smoke and cry all day- or rather night, for them- and hold Kurt against him as he passed out until the cycle started again.  
Charles understood at least a little. He said nothing of Warren anymore; allowing Kurt to continue on keeping his angel as happy as possible in isolation as the winged mutant wished.  
No one spoke of Warren anymore, really.  
But Kurt did. He knew the angel was there. He knew that Warren was as just alive as any of them were; no matter how ghostly he seemed or acted.  
So Kurt held his angel close again that night, and fell asleep in their glowing, warm world; away from society and alone in their same mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read two different ways-  
> Warren, with Kurt- as you most likely read to begin with. Simple, obvious- as it originally was created.
> 
> Or, maybe Warren was never there to begin with.  
> Maybe that was Kurts alcohol everywhere. Kurts messy, ruined room. Kurts abandoned medication, and Kurts own voice telling himself that it was okay- _Warren was okay, right there with him._ Kurt throwing his light out when the memories got to be too much in a fit of panic; unable to live in the light with what he had done- _who he had taken._  
>  Maybe his friends were not trying to convince Kurt to leave Warren in the physical world, but rather the mental.


End file.
